


the engines all go bust, we turn to dust

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 12x11 coda, Caring Sam Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s12e11 Regarding Dean, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, brotherly moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 09:40:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9650063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He found himself in the bathroom, again. The light hurt his eyes, and his hands clenched around the porcelain sides of the sink, again.(12x11 coda, set a few days or so after the episode. title from "she lays down" by the 1975)





	

**Author's Note:**

> it isn't another week of supernatural if i don't cry, and then write away my sadness, am i right???  
> anyhoo if i get around to it, i have a lot of sam-centric feelings to give to the world, as well as this, so be ready for that perhaps????

One morning, Dean woke up to a dark room, the shadowy silhouettes of his clothes piled on the floor, and a familiar smell of breakfast wafting in from under the door.

He couldn’t remember his name.

It hit him like a punch to the stomach, and heavy, invisible hands press down on his chest again; his hands shook, uncontrollable tremors, breath coming out in small, weak huffs.

Sam told him that if the hex kept going, he would have eventually forgotten to breathe, so Dean made an extra special effort to breathe in and out, fast and quick, he won’t forget it if he can hear the air escape in tiny trembling gasps, and he doesn’t want to die by suffocation, he doesn’t really want to die at all-

He found himself in the bathroom, again. The light hurt his eyes and his hands clenched around the porcelain sides of the sink, again. Water swirled down the drain, and he could feel the way his throat seemed to be closing up and the way his eyes welled up, and maybe that’s a sign he’s dying, too.

The door was closed, but he could hear Sam singing something down the hall-

_ Sam.  _

It took Dean a few tries but he was finally able to form words, speak them.

‘My, uh, my name- my name is-’ His voice shook, thick, deep, hopeless, and he didn’t want to remember the feeling of his life being grabbed by an unknown force, having everything that makes up his existence vanish without his consent, but then at least he’d remember  _ something.  _ ‘My name is-’

The words were  _ there,  _ he had them, curled up in his tightly clenched hands, but he was scared that if he unfurled his grasp that they’d slip through his fingers.

He ducked his head and reminded himself that he still knows how to breathe. He knew all the names, the words, the places, he just couldn’t  _ say  _ them.

Dean lifted his hands from the rims of the sink and watched them dance back and forth at his sides, as they ran through his hair, as he pulled his nails across and down the skin of his temple.

He remembered yesterday, and the day before that, almost every event from the last week. He could name objects without sticky notes, make references and remembers where they’re from.

That didn’t stop Dean’s newfound infatuation with time; every few minutes he would check his phone, his watch, Sam’s laptop. He didn’t want to miss out, he didn’t want to come back to his senses and realize there had been three hours of nothing, a gap in his memory, a blank void he could only grasp at but never reach out and touch.

He and Sam drank beer, the night before. They went to some low-rank diner with awesome food. There had been no cases, no nothing, just peace and time with his brother, solidifying that Dean was there, he existed, he remembered what it’s  _ like to exist. _

Head bowed, hands hovering around his head, Dean started again.

‘My, uh, my name is Dean Winchester,’ he began, and the air flew out of him in shock and relief and complete desperation. ‘Sam is my-’

He paused, stopped to think. He didn’t need to, but he did it, anyway, just to be  _ sure. _

Dean thought he heard Sam hit a ridiculously off-tune high note from the kitchen, something he would only ever do in his own company, and Dean nearly smiled; a barely-there upturn of the lips.

‘Sam is my brother,’ he continued, and he could look at himself in the mirror, now; glance upwards with blurry vision that he knew was a result of the wet streaks running down into all of the crevices lining his cheeks, and nose, and mouth, but it also reminded him of too much, of forgetting, of not realizing that there were gaps because everything was a gap and he didn’t understand.

‘Mary Winchester is my mom,’ and he remembered Mary, now, clearer than a few seconds before; her smile, her fumbling around with technology, how she’s kind and loving, but badass when need be. He remembered the times she’d been in his dreams, almost all of them; remembered when she hugged him, when she called him her angel, the days when the world was too big and full and he broke down into gentle sobs because he  _ really wanted to have a Mom _ .

‘And Castiel is my best friend.’

He could say it. He could say Cas’ full name, remembered their first meeting, remembered when he spoke to Cas last. He remembered feeling so damn lucky that this being, this angel, this survivor, was his best friend.

He remembered his family, Dean suddenly realized; said all of their names, remembered their faces, their laughs, their smiles, the way they spoke, the way they walked.

He lifted his head, fully, to look in the mirror, at his bloodshot eyes, wet face, messy hair.  He let out another bout of short gasps -  _ in and out, keep breathing, remember to breathe  _ \- before sliding down onto the floor, his entire body shaking, eyes darting wildly around the room.

That’s how Sam found him, some twenty minutes later; curled in on himself against the cold wall, scratching at his trembling hands with short nails, eyes wide and cautious.

Sam dropped down beside him, one hand on Dean’s wrist, the other at the nape of his neck, and then Dean was a crushing weight against Sam’s shoulder, and neither of them cared.  Dean was still shaking, and he wound his arms around Sam’s back, grabbing fistfuls of his soft shirt, pushing himself against his brother as if to disappear.

His voice was muffled through the fabric, still wavering, still unsure. ‘My name is- is Dean Winchester.’

Sam nodded gently, rubbed Dean’s shoulder. He spoke quietly, a murmur. ‘That’s right.’

‘You’re Sam.’

Dean was sure of it, beyond sure, but there was also a moment of doubt; his voice rose toward the end, a hidden question.

‘Mm-hmm.’ 

‘Mary’s our Mom. Cas is our best friend.’

Sam smiled, ran a hand down Dean’s back in a comforting gesture. His voice was reassuring, hopeful, kind, and he felt like they’re little kids again, and the positions had been switched. ‘See? You got it.’

They stayed there for what felt like a lifetime. Dean fell asleep on Sam’s shoulder, his body ceased to shake, and Sam hummed a song he heard on the radio. 

**Author's Note:**

> come and scream with me about the bathroom mirror scene on tumblr: dandymot.tumblr.com


End file.
